MourningAmyMarie

After a Saturday which left me in better condition at the end of the day than when I woke up, I spiraled yesterday. Could it be as they say: what goes up, must come down or is it because the weight of my pain and reality is so heavy that it refuses to remain quiet.

Based on my postings, many may have created a picture of me sitting around and crying over my iPad each and every day immobilized by my relentless grief. Not true as I am in constant motion most of the day until my aching body refuses to cooperate from carrying my heavy cloak of sadness. I exist in a semi-fog though as my mind and heart continue to fight the breaking news that Amy has died. My heart knows, but my mind is still unable to figure out which part of it is reserved to process this devastating unimaginable tragedy. Maybe my mind is rejecting it because there is no part in my brain that knows where to put it.

Yesterday as I was searching for an old cell phone, I stumbled upon a large post-it note with a cookie recipe written in Amy’s handwriting. Just looking at her handwriting made me weep. Amy was always searching for the perfect sugar cookie recipe. Then as my search continued, I found her meat tenderizer tool which she used to make so many wonderful dishes. Seems even some of her over priced cooking tools were hiding out since Amy left this world. As I used it last night to make dinner, I cried again. Although it was washed, I knew my baby had touched this so now it is sacred to me. The battle in my heart and mind continue as everything looks the very same as it did prior to Devastation Day, but now everything holds a new irrational meaning to me.

When my husband was reading the Sunday paper yesterday, he noticed a 50-year-old woman’s cause of death was listed as dying of a broken heart after recently losing her husband. He asked if I had ever heard of that and I did. It’s rare but it happens. Looking back, I remember thinking, surely this pain will kill me. Do I care? Behind the fog, a little voice was urging me to keep pushing despite my natural inclination to just give up. Grievers are warriors. It takes so much energy to survive or even exist.

The history of a parent and their child is so intense and deep. We always tried to keep them warm, safe and dry. We watered and fed them and watched them grow. Our fierce devotion to them and to their personal development was in many ways our reason for being. Exactly how do we move forward when they die? Is writing changing any of it?

So now i find many keep reminding me to take care of myself as their voices trail off before finishing their sentence. They too worry from afar what this loss will do to me. Yet when they remind me what I need to do I get so irritated. I already know.

When they remind me that there are others who love me and I need to do this for them, I want to slap them … As if I am so self-absorbed that I don’t see that. That pressure keeps me moving but it takes energy, time and commitment to return to your normal way to pursue the quest for happiness and good health. Step inside my new normal world and you will see the roadblocks and detours and the challenges. Not so simple, huh?

I started to write another painful posting last night when all of a sudden it occurred to me what the hell has changed since Devastation Day? I tried to delete it but it was too late. Maybe the empty post says it all. Nothing. How has rewriting over and over my painful thoughts on the subject of living without Amy helped me or even others? Despite my mission to educate others on the painful ramifications of losing my child, who cares? Who gets it?

In the first few days after Amy died, my son and I searched the Internet for ways to survive this horrific loss. We never landed on anything helpful. In those first few months, many spoke to us under the umbrella of “I know the way” or umbrella of “stupid things to say which compound your pain”. I wanted to read someone’s authentic journey so one day I decided to write about my own. But I made a promise to myself to keep it real.

My intention was to write for one year but then as I moved into the second year, which I was not prepared for after all of the painful firsts, I kept writing, never revisiting any prior post. Hence why I probably repeat myself.

It is my sincere hope that someday someone will read one of my postings and feel less alone and targeted. Maybe someone’s loved one or friend will stumble across one of my posts and see a glimpse of what it’s like to lose a child and be more compassionate. However, I realize there are no adequate words which do this loss justice.

I admit there was a time after reading other parent’s blogs, that even in my grief fog, I realized I was not writing with the same big words along with their obvious writing flare. I am not a writer. I am a broken mother stumbling through an unimaginable tragedy which has shattered my life.

As I have said many times, should I be worried that my raw honest rants are scaring the newly bereaved? Why am I getting irritated when I read all of the professions of love all over social media? Reality is, I am doing the same crap here, except my posts are depressing. Sharing my feelings about mourning my child. Yet I still cringe when anyone mentions they have read my blog. I also admit that I cringe when I notice the look in their eyes as they make that confession. Pity? Compassion? Confusion? Relief they can’t relate?

Last night, it occurred to me that these painful posts change nothing. When I wake up and go to bed, Amy is still dead. Dammit. Nothing has changed since devastation day. I am still mourning my Amy.

Always, always remembering Amy.

PS: Yesterday, I learned that the dear sweet innocent newborn whom I referenced in my last post did not survive and the mother is now in custody. How could something like this happen. Maybe we as a society need to make sure every pregnant mother, regardless of their circumstances, is aware that many states have a Safe Haven law where you can drop your baby at an ER or a police station if you cannot care for your child. I never have a secondary platform for my blog other than my pain but this is so disturbing that how do you just move on without saying something.